Aradma Shahin
Tournament of Ages Aradma put the finishing touches on the outside of the tent that would serve as both booth and home during the Tournament of Ages. The small tent was a mix of sturdy black leather tarps and billowing embroidered purple silks. Incent burners graced either side of the entrance creating an alluring fragrance that would draw in customers. The mystical concoction had a way of always producing a scent that perfectly matched the aroma favored by each passerby. The interior was softly lit with candles of every shape, size and color. A mismatched collection of stools, benches and pedestals displayed her wares. Potions for love, powders for body aches, tinctures for fertility and tonics for nerves in jars, pots, vials and pouches all for sale. The center of the shadowy space held her prized possession. A low circular table, the surface covered in intricate carvings and words in long forgotten languages which held a purple silk square, upon which sat a luxurious purple silk pillow, perched up which was a crystal orb. The orb was rounded into a perfect sphere, the crystalline structure within creating the illusion of movement. The center appeared as an inky black swirl surrounded by sparks of light and glimmers of energy. Aradma had always possessed a flare for the dramatic. She grinned bright as she lay the pristine white cover over the orb. Her fingers twitched as she looked at her masterpiece and she imaged the gasp of awe from the customer who would get to watch the sweeping snap of the cover as the orb was revealed. A delicate clearing of the throat pull Aradma from her musings and she turned, ready to tell the early-riser that her booth was not quite ready for customers but the figure standing between the purple drapes made the words freeze in her throat. The human woman was waifish and yet regal all at the once. Long dark hair hung down in waves around her thin face and narrow shoulders. Her robes seemed to swallow her, hanging down her body more like oppressive chains than elegant garments. Her expression sagged along with her clothes, her hair, and her frame. The corners of her mouth turned down, her eyes looking more at the floor than at Aradma. “Are you….. open?” It took a moment for the words to register for the soothsayer, but she nodded and beckoned the small woman to enter. “Yes, of course. You are here for a reading, I take it?” Aradma moved to offer the woman a seat at the low table. The customer began to seat herself and the seer took a step towards her own seat on the other side when the light in the room dimmed suddenly and considerably. A low, heavy voice made her jump, “Lady Castille, this is a waste of time. We should return to your tent…” A raise of the woman’s small hand and the monster of a man blocking the door fell silent. Lady Castille wasted no time, “My husband is missing. I fear…” she paused to collect herself but her voice broke all the same, “I fear my husband may have met his untimely death.” Aradma listened to the woman’s tale, nodding at the appropriate times. The soothsayer was familiar with the story. Most likely the husband, like many lovers often do, had a wandering eye. A wandering eye that led to wandering lips, wandering hands and so on. The woman before her might deserve the truth but that was not her reason for seeking out Aradma. The small woman was here for relief from the pain and heartache. The mage gently removed and folded the white cloth covering the orb. No dramatic sweep this time. She rehearsed the story in her head as she waited patiently for the woman finish. She would tell her a story of a husband, loyal and faithful, who came upon a widow and her sickly child. Duty and honor required he provide them with safe escort to the physician who would heal the sick child. He will return home soon enough, his heroic deeds bringing even more honor to her family. Yes, it was not the truth but it would give the woman across from her some respite from her suffering. The mage waved her hand over the orb and set the surface to swirling. “I see a man on a horse, he is following the old south road.” The customer nodded. “He is holding something, a locket. A locket with a rose etched into the golden surface.” Truly, the images in the seer’s ball were matching up nicely with the story she had concocted. “It is the locket I gave him when we wed,” the small woman sighed out a long breath. “He is thinking of you, thinking of home, but wait…” Aradma stared into the swirling surface until it cleared and the image came into sharp detail. “A cart is broken down on the side of the road, he must stop to assist.” The vision in the orb drew her in and the mage did not notice the shift in stance of the large man still near the door. A sense of foreboding washed over the seer. The sound of steel being drawn. Aradma gasped and clutched her chest as she was pulled into the scene. Sharp pain stole her breath and looking down, she sees the bloody end of the blade sticking out of her armored chest. From the cart leaps another man, drawing a blade, “End of the road for you, Lord Castille.” A sickening sound and more pain as the blade is ripped from the Lord’s chest. He starts to fall, take Aradma down as she tries to stop the vision. The mage squeezes her own eyes shut but that does not break the bond with the orb or the story that unfolds behind her eyelids. The fall feels like forever, the life of the Lord flicking in broken images, love, wedding, son, war… as the Lord Castille hits the ground he looks up into the face of attacker. The singing sound of sword being drawn finally broke Aradma free of the vision. The towering man advanced, lifting his sword at the back of the small woman. He growled, strained with anger, “I told you to leave it alone!” The mage jolted up to her feet, dumping over the low table. “RUN!” The small woman had only enough time to fall to the floor as the soothsayer unleashed a ball of raw arcane energy at the attacker’s chest. The force blasted him out of the tent and sent Aradma in the opposite direction, knocking her off of her feet and slamming her into the table of potions behind her. Stunned from both the vision and the fall, she blinks her eyes and tried to make sense of what she sees. Through the swaying tent flaps she could see guards shackling the attacker. A hand appeared in her line of sight just in front of her face. “Here, let me help you.” The small woman offered her hand and Aradma reluctantly took it. She is more afraid of straining the frail woman than herself, but the Lady Castille was surprisingly strong, and easily returned the mage to her feet. “I must apologize, Lady Aradma. I had suspected Torville was responsible, but I had to proof. Thank you for helping me flush out my husband’s killer.” Aradma smoothed her robes back into place and looked at the over turned tables and benches. “I will make sure you are compensated, Soothsayer. Do not worry over much about these possessions.” The mage continued to stare, bewildered and confused. Lady Castille gave her arm a squeeze. “Prepare for many customers and admirers to seek you out this Tournament season, my friend. Everyone I know will hear the name of the great seer, Lady Aradma.” The small woman righted the flipped table and deposited a heavy sack of coins on its carved surface. She glided out of the mage’s tent and disappeared into the milling crowd of curious onlookers. Indeed, the next two weeks proved to be the best tournament season yet for Lady Aradma, soothsayer to House Castille. One pill makes you larger, and one pill makes you small (story coming soon) Category:Stories Category:Characters Category:Human Category:Alteraci